Cope
by spazmoid
Summary: He swallowed and drowned the urge to cry or scream because neithre of them ever did anything. He had been up, down, through, and around this road for at least five years and after a while you just get the hell use to it.
1. Cigarettes and Suicide

_"You love this town_

_Even if that doesn't ring true_

_You've been all over_

_And it's been all over you"_

**-U2**

* * *

Craig Tucker hit the wall again with a large thump. He had stopped trying to fight a long time ago, and Ruby had stopped crying about it like she used to. They both were faced with the fact that no one was going to help them. Ever. Their mother never came home, and Craig had a feeling it was not just work keeping her away. It was as if she was deliberately taking the hardest jobs just so she could stay out of town and escape them. Craig could not bear to hate her however because if he had the chance he would do it too. Anything to get out of this fucking house.

Craig's entire body was tinged in pain when the man who towered above him finished. He was kicked a final time and he thought he might have saw a speck of red on his hand when he coughed. Then again he could have been mistaken. He did not bother to crawl up from his place on the hallway floor. Instead he just rested there, head against the cold hardwood until he heard a door close and the angry cursing disappearing off into the distance. Dammit why was he such a fuckup?

He swallowed and drowned the urge to cry or scream because neithre of them ever did anything. He had been up, down, through, and around this road for at least five years and after a while you just get the hell use to it. The sad honest thing is everyone could get used to something no matter how bad it is. You can get used to pretending the tears running down your face in the shower is just water from the shower head. You can get used to a mother who rarely comes home, even if it is just to check on you. You can even get used to the fact she does not even bother to send her letters anymore even if you keep all of them locked in a box safe under your bed. You can get used to the father who kicks you around and beats the shit out of you whenever he is off work, on holiday, or maybe he just wanted to see how you were doing. Maybe you finally have met his expectations of a Real Son and not just Another Daughter.

Craig could hear a door creak open down the hall, and he closed his eyes prepared for another kick in the gut or face. Instead he heard someone kneel beside him and hands underneath his arms as he was hoisted up and dragged to the bathroom. He saw a glimpse of her orange hair as she disappeared for her cell phone. She locked the door and called Clyde or maybe it was Tweek this time. She dialed the number quickly and Craig knew by the numerous shrieks and yelps and whatever random noises over the sobs on the phone it was the blond of the two.

Craig glared at her because she knew full well he did not want anyone to know. She flipped him off before handing him an icepack she had gotten at some point in time. Perhaps she had grabbed it when running out for the phone. "You have to tell someone Craig," she said in monotone. Craig knew deep down she was right, but he really did not want to. They were both fucked up now and had no idea how to deal with the emotions they kept bottled up within their hearts.

Clyde was over first. His arm was around a shaking Tweek who for once was deathly quiet as to not alert anyone they were there. Ruby had given Craig her makeup to cover up the bruises and black eyes. Craig was dressed in his Red Racer pyjamas and a hoodie covering up the bandages used for his cuts. She quietly tugged him out the door and they both climbed into the car.

Clyde was cursing under his breath, and Tweek was so frighteningly quiet and shaking so ferociously Craig really wanted to cry right then. He hated to see his friends distressed in any way or fashion, and this time they were upset over him. Not because of him but over him. He never thought anyone besides Ruby cared.

Ruby was already asleep on his arm and for the first time he could see the duffel bag laying across her lap. It was filled to the point of bursting and instantly Craig knew they were never coming back. He fell asleep to this thought as they drove on, and Craig swore he could hear someone crying. He never even realised it was himself.

The next morning they walked out the door of Tweek's house in silence. Craig had been surprised when neithre parents seemed to mind him staying over. It was hard to go from a hating family to an overly loving one the next. It was easier to deal with something if you did not know what you were missing.

Ruby was smoking again. She had gone from a pack to a two pack a day habit as time had worn on. Craig had been stupid enough to ask her why once. The look in her eyes when she said "I rather die this way than another" had haunted his memory, and he never dared to ask again.

"I hate him. Craig I fuckin' hate him," he heard her suddenly whisper. Ruby threw her cigarette on the ground snuffing it out with the toe of her boot. Her voice was in that same dry monotone they both had been cursed with. They were both apathetic fuckups, and neithre of them knew how to fix it.

Craig did not say a word. He was wrapped in a hoodie that never seemed to warm him despite the fact it was not even that cold today. His shoes kicked at the snow absentmindedly. He fingered an unlit cigarette that was in his hand. His eyes were anywhere but hers. He did not like it when she got like this.

"I'll kill him if he hurts you again." Craig looked up this time. Her eyes were cold, and it was frightening how much honesty she put behind her words and clenched fists. She was shaking as she pulled out another cigarette, but she could not light it. Craig used all his strength to reach over and wrap an arm around her. She just snuggled into him. Both of them pretended they were just really cold, and that this was not for comfort. "It'll be okay now," she said as Craig lit her cigarette for her. For a second Craig almost believed it.

They parted when they reached the school doors. Ruby chose to go in and Craig chose not to. He walked over to the park no one went to because it was old and bad and forgotten. The majority of people who came around anymore were junkies and couples who wanted a real classy place to snog. It was an escape route. It was a place where he did not have to think of anything but snow and creaky swingsets.

He was swinging in one now, listening to the slow rattle of the bolts and nails and chains. He kept counting the amount of swings he could get out of it before the entire thing collapsed on top of him. One, two, three, four, five, six...

"Have a light?" Craig did not bother to look up to see who it was. Instead, he held up the lighter. "And a cig too?" Craig thought that was funny, but he did not say so. He also had this weird problem with laughing; he could not do it. He handed whoever was talking to him a cigarette from his already decreasing pack. This time he looked up and took in the orange parka and blond hair framing strangely pale blue eyes. Craig could take in all of his facial features because for once the other teen did not hide his face behind his hood.

"Thanks" was all Kenny said as he took this as an opportunity to sit in the swing next to Craig. Craig noticed Kenny's right eye was swollen shut and blackened. His stomach clenched recognising that only a fist could do that kind of damage. He wanted to ask if he was going through the same thing as him, and how he handled it. He wanted him to teach him how to smile and be happy even if he was not happy at all. He did say any of things. Instead he lit his own cigarette and watched the smoke rise up and disappear like the words that use to rest on his tongue.

Craig looked up and instantly regretted it because he almost choked as he sucked in way too much of the smoke of his cigarette. The sun shone on Kenny's face and all Craig could think about was that he was just so fucking beautiful. He forgot he was not supposed to be feeling like that to a boy, moreover Kenny McCormick. He wanted to run away from this so obvious problem, but he could not seem to get his body to listen to his mind.

He vaguely remembered liking the other boy a lot when he was in the seventh grade. He thought the feelings had died along with the rest of his emotions. It was obvious it had not because his heart was pounding in his chest and it was getting hard to think. He wanted to swallow back unwanted memories that were rising up when he first discovered this, and he so desperately wanted to get out of the situation he was in right now.

He wanted to scream that this was all so wrong. He wanted to cry. He wanted to hit something, break something, or do something as equally damaging. He wanted to save his sister before she did something crazy and stupid and homicidal. He wanted so desperately to just be different so none of this would have ever happened.

Instead, he took a long drag from his cigarette and then snuffed it on the ground like Ruby had done. He watched the embers die out. His eyes were trained on it and refused to look up at what he wanted to look at. He refused to acknowledge the feelings. He tried so hard, and then suddenly he realised to his horror he had started crying. One tear slid down his face and then another. Then he could no longer see because everything was blurry and he could not say anything to defend himself because the sobs in his throat would not let him. He was choking on his heart that wanted to be released from its prison he had built it in.

He felt arms around his waist as he was dragged into an embrace. He tried to fight, but he was so tired of running away from everyone and everything. He was tired of isolating himself and being alone just because he was terrified of what would happen to others if they came into contact with him. He could hear the other whispering a song in his ear to comfort him like a lullaby as he slowly fell asleep. Whether it was from emotional or physical exhaustion he did not know.


	2. Shattering Like Glass

_"__What you don't have you don't need it now_

_What you don't know you can feel it somehow"_

**-U2**

* * *

Craig is living in a circus. Black smears of makeup down his mother's face as she throws around colourful profanity while punching his father repeatedly in the chest with her fists. His father has bright orange clown hair and blocks Craig from his mother's view as he stands in the doorway. An empty glass is frozen in his hand as he watches the display.

His mother is weakening now and slumps against him before sobbing and shaking her head as she pulls away. This is the first time Craig has ever seen the bruises, but they seem to make sense now. His mind putting the pieces together like the millions of jigsaw puzzles he used to fix when his friends would sleep over.

She finally notices Craig when she heads toward the doorway. Time seems to freeze as she stares at him, puffy green eyes meeting apathetic indigo. She turns her eyes away from him and to the door as she walks past him, high heels clicking on the floor as she begins throwing her things in a bag. Craig watches not knowing he dropped his glass onto the floor and the bits and pieces are now threatening surrounding his bare feet.

The scene began to change as his mother stops packing and turns around to face him. The black smears on her face look like big angry bruises as she stares at him. Craig wants to run away, but he cannot. His mother walks toward him and suddenly he feels so very small as she takes his face into her hands, nails biting into his skin. He wants her to stop and tell her this is hurting him, but no words will leave his throat.

She smiles, and it is not the smile he remembers of his mother. It is an ugly clownish grin that covers her face and makes her look even more menancing. Her nails are digging deeper and Craig can swear he feels something wet on his face.

She begins to speak, but Craig cannot hear the words over a loud hellish scream. He does not know where it comes from, but it booms in his ears encasing the room and causing the glass to shimmer around him and come to life as it crawls until it is cutting his feet. His mother still holds his face and her nails are digging deeper. Her mouth still moves, but with each word the screech grows louder and louder and louder...

"Wake up." Craig's eyes flew open at the words. Faux fur tickled his face as he was forced back to reality. He pushed down the orange parka that was covering him and looked up to see a curious face that hid the hint of smile. He cursed and pushed himself up, refusing to admit how embarrassed he was and choosing not mention he had just fallen asleep in someone else's lap. He also refused to admit that he was relieved it was this smiling blond who woke him rather than a very angry father who was probably looking for him this instant. He was bound to know Ruby and he were gone now. He rubbed a bit at his temples.

Kenny did not bring up the breakdown, and Craig was thankful for that. Instead the blond was helping himself to more of the other's cigarettes. He opened his mouth blowing out smoke that formed a lazy but perfect "O" before disappearing in the sky. Craig watched somewhat amused and momentarily forgetting about the nightmare he had just had and the reality he was trying to escape.

Kenny glanced over at him and caught him staring. He grinned as if he had heard the best secret in the world and no one else would ever know. Craig could not help but think he looked a lot better than anyone he had ever known despite a black eye and bruises that seemed to be on his neck. "Nice nap?" he asked glancing at the other, the smile still on his face as he tore his eyes away and stared at the sky. Clouds were forming, warning them of eithre snow or rain.

"Just dandy," Craig said sarcastically managing to cover up any of his feelings with the same monotone he always had. He felt stupid and silly for crying. He had been dealing with this for years. There was no reason for it to hurt anymore now than it ever did. He felt raw in those moments, as if his skin was scratched with rough sandpaper. He could feel Kenny staring at him again, and almost unconsciously Craig reached down to make sure his sleeves were pulled down.

They fell into silence, Craig reaching for his own cigarette only to discover the box was now empty. He cursed tossing the box on the ground. He could see a wary smile on Kenny's lips. "Sorry," he heard the other mutter. Kenny really did look every bit apologetic, his blue eyes practically begging for forgiveness.

"It's fine," Craig lied turning his face away. He really did not have the money for another pack, and he highly doubted Tweek would give him money for cigarettes. The thin blond spazz highly disapproved of the habit. With no other way to relieve the stress he was feeling, Craig began to play idly with the end of his sleeve.

That was when he felt something pushed between his closed lips. Kenny was giving him a small smile, and it took Craig to realise that it was probably due to the look on his face. His face was blank in its surprise, his eyes looking at the other in a seeminglingly hopeless manner. He did his best to shake it off, hoping the other did not see or catch what any of it meant. He pulled the cigarette from his lips to exhale still silent. He had no idea what to say to the gesture. He was not too much for thank you's.

Kenny did not seem offended by the no response. In fact, he seemed rather okay with it. Kenny started talking as if nothing had happened at all. "So why aren't you in school?"

Craig refused to look up as he began to talk. "I didn't feel like going." It was not a lie, but it was not exactly the truth eithre. He was trying to avoid the stares he constantly got in the hallways and the teachers who were constantly asking if he was "all right." He was tired of being sent to the guidance counsellor for fights that really were not his fault. He was a freak who attracted trouble, and he knew it. A break from it all was the only thing he wanted right then.

"I'm not going because it's too fucking school," Kenny said as if his sentence made the most sense in the world. When Craig did not respond, Kenny decided to elaborate. "You know, the teachers, the kids, the students, the groups, all that. Drama always is there, and then there's this whole thing when I can hardly go a day without dying..."

"Shit," Craig said in response. he was unsure whether he was cursing because school was shit or that life in general was shit. At least it was for him right now. It was not like he had anything better to comment anyway. He did not want to talk about his own personal life. He might as well listen to Kenny while he talked about his own.

"That's right," Kenny hummed with a nod as if they were in a perfect understanding. "Sometimes you just need a break from all this... shit," he said with a laugh that seemed forced but at the same time very much free. "Getting beat on sucks, but I rather be hit than to hit someone else. I've been there too many times," he said his voice softening. He peeled his thoughts away from it and poked the seemingly unresponsive boy in the shoulder. "Sorry for boring you with my shit," he said his old grin returning.

"You weren't boring me," Craig said the words as surprising to himself as they were to the other. There was an uncomfortable moment before Craig broke it with a cough into his hand. He knew talking would not fix it, but he could not stop himself. "I mean, fuck, it's good to talk to someone. You might as well talk to someone who you don't know and is willing to listen rather than someone you know and who won't listen. They might say they do but don't." He was rambling. That was why Craig hardly spoke, when he did the words all came out at once, both unwanted and wanted. "If you don't say anything about it, you might turnt out more fucked up than you were in the beginning." Craig was unsure if the last part was to himself or Kenny.

Kenny looked as if he was shocked speechless. His eyes were wide not suspecting the rush of words that came from the other's mouth. For a second he had thought that first statement was surprising, but the rush of words that came next were just plain unexpected. He had never heard Craig say more than two words before. "Yeah... Thanks," Kenny said with no other thing to say.

Another uncomfortable silence, more words that would die away before being said. Kenny had looked back down and played with shoelaces on his boots. He pulled up his sleeve revealing an orange watch and then cursed. He looked over at Craig with his mouth open as if to say something before closing it again. Instead he got up and walked away in a way that seemed almost as if he was running away. Craig was unsure whether it was from him or the awkward feeling that hung in the air. Whatever the reason was, Craig almost let himself wonder just what Kenny had wanted to say.


	3. These Dreams Are Cold and Broken

_"__In the day by day collision_

_Called the art of growing up_

_There's an innocence we look for in the stars_

_To be taken back to younger days_

_When there was no giving up"_

**- Blue October**

* * *

Craig had resumed swinging after Kenny left. He was still counting steadily watching the sky with half interest. Hours went by, and Craig lost track of time focusing too much on the swing. He was in his own little world. When his mind seemed to catch up with reality he realised there were stars in the sky and the streetlamps were on. Tweek was probably calling him by now.

Craig stood up on unsure legs. He stumbled a bit, the hours of not walking had made them almost numb by the cold. He steadied himself as he reached down into his pocket for his cell phone. He fumbled it open and began to curse. He was practically numb already. He would not notice the temperature dropped about ten degrees while he was thinking about who the hell knows what. He had ten missed calls and nine new messages. He decided to ignore them choosing instead to dial Tweek's home number.

"Craig w-where are you?" he heard the other practically scream into his ear. Craig cringed at the volume, but he was used to it. Tweek was usually yelling about something or the other. This moment was really no different from any other.

"I went to the park," he said in a monotone. He looked up at the sky as he talked staring at the stars. He paused as his eyes searched them. Unwanted memories flooded his mind as he stared. There were images of a grandmother who loved him until she died. There were ones of crying and begging to go to a funeral that no one would take him to. He inhaled deeply trying to make them go away, but the more he told himself not to think about it, the more he did. Right in the middle of his rapid thoughts he remembered something important. It was so important that he quickly told Tweek he had to go and started running.

Craig was cursing as he ran. He was cursing himself and the fact he had left it. He stopped when he reached his house. The house that held so many secrets that few ever knew about. He glanced over to the driveway. Fear, a feeling he was so used to, passed through his mind when he saw the familiar car in the driveway. He shoved the feeling away and out of his mind completely focusing on looking for the extra key he had stored in the yard. He found it in the crook of a tree around the side of the house. His breath caught in his throat as he unlocked the door and pushed it open.

Craig did not even bother to take off his snow-covered shoes. Instead he turnt his attention to passing through the house without making a noise. It took longer this way, but he did not want to be caught. It felt strange to be a burgular in your own home. He pushed open his room door and ran over to his bed. It was stripped of most of his blankets and pillows, but inbetween the mattress he could see that familar silver glimpse. He reached for it, his fingers tugging out the tin box. He opened the box to see it empty.

For a second, Craig did not do anything. He just stared at it blankly unsure what to do. He walked back downstairs numbly, tin box clenched between his fingers. He was still trying to be quiet, but it was too late. That fear he had pushed away had came back and was twisting his stomach in knots. Craig felt as if he would be sick.

"I knew you'd come back for that shit." Craig froze at the words. He had almost made it all the way down the stairs. He turnt around to see that his father stood with a pile of letters and photographs in hand. His nails bit into his tin box as he stared at his stuff. Those were all his and he knew it. He could see a photograph of Ruby, his grandmother, and him flutter to the ground. He almost reached for it, but then he saw his father again. His strongly built father who always seemed more like a lumberjack than someone who wears a suit. He took a step back despite his mind telling him he had to take the letters and photographs back. That they were his, and his father had no right to them. The rage was being consumed by that same dread he always got. He had heard the slur in his father's voice when he spoke. He turnt to run, but his father caught him first and tripped him down the stairs.

Craig bit back the urge to yell as he landed hard on his ankle. It was then that he realised how stupid it was to run back for a box of things that did not really mean anything. It was a box of pictures of a family that had fallen apart and letters a mother who would never come back had sent. His father walked past him, ignoring the fact his son was obviously hurt. He dumped the pictures and letters in the fireplace. Craig watched eyes unreadable. No matter how stupid they were, they were all he had left of that mother, that grandmother. He wanted to say something, but his words would not stop the man in front of him. His father lit the match and threw it.

For a moment, Craig had the vain hope that this was just another nightmare. He was still in the park fast asleep in a swing, not at his house watching as the papers burned. However, this was not a dream. This was bitter reality, and this time there was no Ruby to come and help him out the door. He was an idiot for coming, and the regret seeped through him creating that familar cold feeling that always seemed to take him over. By the time he received the first blow he had drawn into himself enough for it not to hurt as much. By the second he did not feel it at all. He lost count after the fifth one, and just waited until his father was done with him.

The drunken slurs could no longer be understood meaning that his father was finally tired enough to stop. He walked away and slammed his room door. Craig waited a while before pushing himself up. He cringed falling back down. His ankle might have been more than sprained. He bit his lip as he tried again. He managed to fight the pain enough to stumble over to the fireplace. He did his best to put out the fire before reaching for the tattered remains of whatever was left.

By the time Craig was done, his gloved hands were grey with the ashes. He pushed the scraps and pieces into a pile and put them in the safety of the tin box. He looked at the broken lock. His father must have just torn the box open before thrusting it back between the mattresses. His chest clenched as he stared at it. He breathed in deeply to discover it hurt when he inhaled or exhaled too hard.

His phone ring, and he reached over switching off the ringtone before it woke up his father. "Hello?" he said holding back a cough. He relaxed against the wall clenching the box to himself. The phone was held limply in one of his hands. He closed his eyes as he waited for the other line. He had to relax enough for his walk back to Tweek's house.

"Craig?" Craig hated the tone in Ruby's voice right then. It sounded so worried, and he knew he was the cause of it. He wanted to go to sleep right now, but he needed to get out of this place he used to go home. He could not stay to face his father in the morning.

"Hey Rubes," Craig said trying to sound normal. The only problem was that it hurt to do anything which included talking. His lips hurt with every word, and he could taste blood on the inside of his mouth. "What are you doing?" He did not ask because he was actually wondering. He asked because he wanted to keep her from asking if he was all right. Craig hated being asked that. If he was okay, they would not have asked.

"Craig...," Ruby started as if she was going to say something. Then he heard her sigh. "I'm wondering where you are," she said a bit of her old sarcasm in her tone. She sounded tired. "Tweek is worried," she said, Craig noticing that she did not mention herself. Oh no, the Tuckers did not worry. "You were saying you were coming to the house, and then he said you just hung up."

"... I went for a walk," Craig said. He could hear the lie in his own voice. "Tell him not too worry. I'm coming home. I got what I went to the store for," he said fumbling the words. The pain was worse, coming in shocking waves as he tried to stand. He cried out the phone falling from his hand. He did not bother to pick it up. He just pulled himself up enough to limp to the door. He gritted his teeth determined not to make another noise as he made his way through the snow.

Craig's father had been angrier this time. He knew his father hated him, but he never knew just how much he did. He knew if he was different his mother would have probably stayed, and just maybe his father would not have been so much of an alcoholic. Maybe his grandmother would not have been forced into a nursing home. One where her grandson was forbidden to visit, and she had to die alone. Craig stumbled again, leaning against a tree for support.

It took him over an hour to walk the several blocks to Tweek's house. The entire time he kept falling and bumping into things. He allowed himself to collapse when he finally reached the porch. He just needed to catch his breath again. His ankle no longer wanted to work with him. He had to drag it for that last block. He did not want to face them right now. They would all freak out at his appearance. Unfortunately, life was not smiling in his favour.

"Holy tap-dancing baby Jesus! Craig!" Craig hardly heard the words. He had been leaning against the door, and when it was opened he had just fell backwards. Hard. He blinked up eyes seeing golden hair and brown eyes. "Craig!" Craig could not force his mouth to form a response. Whenever he opened his mouth to say something, he would cough up blood. He heard the blond above him scramble off to get someone. Then he could feel strong arms dragging him to the living room. Every time he tried to close his eyes, he could see fingers snapping in front of his face.

"Please stay awake Craig. Please," Craig heard someone say. He wanted to listen, but he was tired. He was so very tired. He just wanted whoever it was to let him go to sleep. He opened his eyes to slits, only able to see blurred coloured figures. He faded in and out. The voices that talked around him came to him as if on a bad radio connection. "Craig... You fucking idiot," he managed to make out from the voices. He was still unsure to whose voice belonged to who.

Craig could feel something poured down his throat, and he obediently swallowed it when he was told. He probably would not have if he was in his normal frame of mine, but at the moment he could not even tell you how many fingers he had. The pain had driven him delirious, and he was willing to accept anything just to make it go away.

The painkiller settled in slowly. It went through his body before numbing his mind. His body became limp against the cushions, and his breathing slowed. He was unconscious in seconds. The sounds of the people around him going from white noise to nothing.


	4. Running Out of Letters and Words

_"__Here we are again,_

_I feel the chemicals kickin' in_

_It's gettin' heavier,_

_I wanna run and hide."_

**- Neon Trees**

* * *

Craig woke up to the dim light of a hospital room. He almost wished he was not there. He almost wished he was dead. He did not bother to pull himself up. His ankle was sore, but he could see that it was now in a cast. He stared at the ceiling. He looked up at the dark lights wishing that the room was not as dark as his mood.

After talking himself into it, Craig slowly eased up into a sitting position. His violet eyes scanned the room carefully. The curtains were closed and the room was bare. He was in a single room with no other occupants. His friends and family were nowhere to be found. He lifted his arms up to see an IV needle in his arm and wires connected to him to moniter his heartbeat. He sighed, letting his head fall back and hit the wall. He did not even feel anything when it did so.

It was around two hours later that a nurse came in. She seemed surprised he was awake at first, but then smiled wishing him well. "How are you today Mr. Tucker?" she asked. Craig opened his eyes and glanced over at her. He hated her voice. His silent glare seemed to make her be quiet. She did not say another word as she pushed a tray to him that would serve as his breakfast. "I'll see you... Mr. Tucker," she said almost hesitantly. She turnt to walk out the door but was stopped by Craig's voice.

"Craig. My dad's Mr. Tucker." Craig's icy glare bit into the nurse's skin. She nodded before running off as if afraid of him. Craig only sighed. It was better that way. He disliked people hanging over him too much. The nurse would probably spread it around that he was a bastard and should be left alone. He placed his head back on the wall to resume just laying there with his eyes closed. He was interrupted yet again.

"You look like you got the shit beat out of you." Craig gave the person his favourite finger before opening his eyes to slits. He could see oranges and yellows and someone he never expected to see. Kenny was smoking a cigarette which he had smuggled in who the hell knows how. He slid on the edge of the bed and put it out on the mattress. For a second, they both just watched the embers die out and the grey mark burnt into the sheets.

"I feel like shit. Thanks for the observation," Craig replied sarcastically. He ignored the smirk that the other gave him. He also ignored the laugh. They both were making him feel weird again. That nervous excited feeling and the fast beat of his heart. Then again, that could have just been the drugs.

"I came to get you out of here," Kenny said looking straight into the other's eyes. Craig was staring at him unable to reply. It was not like Kenny was going to give him a chance to anyway. He made a noise of protest as he was lifted up and tossed over the other's shoulder. He was cursing openly this time, but Kenny did not listen.

There were curious eyes as they walked out of the room, but no one paid them too much mind. Craig inwardly hated them all, not wanting to be carried around like someone who could not even walk. He probably could not, but that was still no excuse for Kenny to just toss him over his shoulder.

Despite it, he had nearly given up by the time they reached Kenny's home. Craig was glaring at him with agitation shining in his eyes as he was placed gently on a bed. He was just about to tell Kenny to fuck off, but Kenny talked first. Kenny always seemed to have the first word in their conversations. "I thought you would like my house better than a stuffy hospital."

Whatever Craig had wanted to say flew out of his mind at that statement. Kenny was indeed right. His house might have been messy, but it was less messy than he thought it would be. It was also a lot better than a spotless hospital room with a bunch of annoying people constantly asking how you were. Still, he did not want to admit to Kenny any of this. He bit his tongue holding back anything akin to a thank you. "I suppose," he finally decided on saying.

Kenny snorted at the response, a small smile on his lips. The excitement was back and thundering in his chest. Craig looked down at his hands willing it away. When it did not, he just thought of it as the medicine still in his system. "So," Kenny said stretching out on the bed next to him, "What's your favourite type of ice cream?"

Craig snorted at the question. He was unsure if Kenny was seriously asking him or just fucking with his head. He looked up from his hands to stare at Kenny's face searching for a lie. When he found none he looked back down at his hands. "I like vanilla I guess... Or chocolate mint," he said. "I'm not too big on sugary things."

Kenny grinned at the response sitting up on his elbows. "Mine is orange sherbert. I love any type of food," he said licking his lips for emphasis. He was quiet for a while before asking another question. "Why are your eyes purple?"

Craig actually let out a small laugh at that one. This seemed to surprise him as well as Kenny. He blinked rubbing one of his arms through the fabric of his hoodie. The familiar fabric beneath his fingers was calming in some way. It helped to wash away any emotion he just had on his face. "Someone told me I might have some weird disorder, but I think it's just some sort of really recessive gene."

Kenny seemed somewhat disappointed with this answer, or maybe he was disappointed that Craig had stopped laughing so quickly. He twirled a hand in the sheet before poking Craig in the side. This only caused the other boy to cringe. "Sorry," he quickly apologised. "Forgot that you were still sore."

Craig only made a small noise. He did not know how to reply otherwise. He fell against the blankets next to Kenny. He wondered again why he was here, but every single second he said to himself "I'm over Kenny McCormick's house in his bed." That feeling would come back, and he was beginning to think it was not just the medications. They should have worn off by now.

Craig toyed with the blankets he was resting in. He wanted to run off and go anywhere but this situation. He knew avoiding problems never made it better, but it was the only thing he really knew. Kenny was definitely a problem to him.

"Craig," Kenny said from his spot on the bed. "Y'know, you're not as big of an ass as you try to be. I just want you to know that." They both were quiet then. Craig's mind was thrown into hopeless turmoil at the words. He had a feeling Kenny was trying to get somewhere he did not want him to be. He was trying to peel back the layers of Craig's heart. "We're the same like that. The inside of the book is a lot more complicated than the covers."

Kenny spoke in so many metaphors. Craig could simplify it. "You mean fucked up," he said. The words were more for himself than Kenny. Kenny was staring at him waiting to see if Craig would say more, but Craig was done with talking. He was tired again.

Kenny pushed himself up to rest above Craig. He was peering his blue eyes into the dark indigo-blue. "Nope. I definitely meant complicated," he said with a grin. His smile and voice kept Craig from falling asleep. Craig could feel that thundering in his chest again. Why the hell did the most impossible things always happen to him? Was his desire to be normal just too much to ask?

That seemed to be true as Kenny seemed unsure what to say. "Can I kiss you?" Kenny asked. Craig's resolve shattered and his desire to run just grew more. Despite it he felt his mouth unable to form the words they needed to form. That left it up to his body which he should have known would betray him. He nodded.


	5. King of Hearts

_"And I ache to remember_

_All the violent, sweet,_

_perfect words that you said"_

_"If I could walk on water, if I could tell you what's next,_

_make you believe, make you forget"_

**- Matt Nathanson**

* * *

Craig remembered his first kiss like it had happened yesterday. It was weird to remembered so clearly, but he did. He was in the second grade and just sitting on the playground when a girl with long brown hair asked him if he wanted to know a secret. Craig just shook his head and returnt to drawing circles in the sand as he waited for Clyde and the rest of them. They had went to lunch and left him behind. He was not very hungry that day.

"She" persisted. Craig never did learn her name. He should call her Giggles because that was what she did every few seconds. It was purely out of nervous habit because she just kept laughing and glancing to the side as if she was not sure if she thought this was a good idea. Craig knew he was not helping with his silent stare. She sometimes stumbled over a word because of the giggles. It took her while, but she finally met his eyes.

"Please," she asked quietly. Craig could hear that desperation in her voice. She was pleading him with nervous blue eyes. Before we continue, it must be said Craig finds something just so interesting about blue eyes. They always remind him of the sky. It does not matter what shade or tint of blue they are. They are like baby skies. Cheesy. He knows. Just another excuse for his apathy and indifferent silence rather than saying everything on my mind.

Anyway, she was desperate, so Craig agreed. He cannot tell you what made him agree, but maybe it was acceptance. She would accept him. She had to. You just do not ask someone to listen to a secret if you do not trust them. You do not trust someone you do not accept. That was what he had thought, but it turnt out he was a lot more naive than he had thought.

She never liked Craig. It turnt out she was so nervous because she was afraid he would say no. Not no because Craig did not like her, but no because she had a bet with her friends. They said the quiet, apathetic boy would never even try to kiss her. He was probably bad at it too. These words never once occured in Craig's head when she tugged him behind the school and kissed him lightly on the lips. A pressing of the lips, and then she just stopped. It happened just like that. She smiled at him sweetly and thanked him as if he had did something important. Then she walked away. It was not until later Craig heard her giggling in the halls with her friends and how they all just stopped their conversation when his group of friends passed by. Fortunately, Tweek was there to save the day with his babbling to draw away his thoughts from a wounded heart.

That kiss was followed by many other horrible experiences. There were drunken makeouts and more girls who just wanted a quick fix. Guys offered, but there was always that deep dread of kissing them. Discovering something he had wanted to keep buried. So what brought him to this point? What brought him to resting against someone else's bed and nodding to such a ridiculous question. Who knew such a small gesture could throw such an impact.

Craig did not bother to think of what would make this kiss different. At this point, he did not want to think of the "what if's" any longer. He was desperate, like that girl he had tried so hard to forget at the playground. His desperation was different although. He was desperate to escape. He wanted to forget who he was by doing something spontaneous. He wanted to do something that just was not him. Oh no, Craig Tucker did not just accept random kiss proposals. That has to be someone else you are thinking of.

This kiss did just that. Craig felt all the thoughts that day after day after day beat against his head and rattle his mind simply numb and fade away. He forgot who he was, even for just a moment. He rejected the pain that throbbed in what was broken on his body. Thinking over broken bones never did fix them. He just reached up and tugged the blond closer. He pulled on the blond hair as his only insurance that he was indeed in reality.

Then Kenny pulled apart and Craig was falling. He was staring bewildered, confused, and his face could tell you everything that right then. He was indeed falling. He fell back into reality, and it hit him worse than any punch. The fact he was here and that this was now... He could not take it. He wanted to leave. He so desperately wanted to run away from this mistake. It could be nothing more than a mistake. The kiss was making him feel a thousand emotions he wanted to erase from his mind.

Kenny seemed to sense something. A house of cards was built and tumbled down on top of itself. Kenny had to be the King of Hearts the way he made Craig forget everything and then forced him to remember simply with blue eyes and a kiss. Craig was the biggest Joker in the deck. He was a willing fool in a game he no longer wanted to play. He sat up and in his cold monotone he demanded to go home. He would not allow Kenny to say anything. He would not allow Kenny to sneak in one curious word to ask him if he was doing okay.

"I want to go home," Craig said again. He was not sure if he said the words out loud. He was out his own mind. He was listening to his own words in an empty fashion. He was dizzy and nauseous and the only thing he wanted was his bed.

Reality is a bitch. It hit Craig hard. He realised he did not have a bed that belonged to solely him. He had no home to return to. He had nowhere to go. Empty ashes in the fire place were the pillow for his memories. Bloodied walls and muffled shouts were the shards of his memory that stuck his brain. He rubbed his temples and only realised Kenny had been speaking to him when he felt a hand on his shoulder. The words that were said sounded too much like an apology for Craig to take.

Craig felt his urges returning, his urges to scream and cry. Those feelings were getting too familiar. That was why he shoved Kenny's sympathy, or perhaps empathy, away. He did not want it. He did not want anything. He wanted nothing. He prayed for nothing. He begged and asked for nothing, but he always received some newfound novelty that would end up shaking his sanity. That kiss was one of those. Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes. How many mistakes could you make before you ran out of second chances?

It was all too much, and the result was Craig stumbling on unsteady feet. He tripped into what he took to be the bathroom and vomited whatever was in his stomach down into a dirty toilet. It was not much, and when he was done he merely hung there. He could not move because of the pain from his ankle and his throbbing head. He slid down to the bathroom floor, forcing his face away from the filthy toilet water and to the browning tile. His gaze was focused on nothing. He was not even aware of the feet that stood in the doorway.

Kenny brushed aside black hair from Craig's forehead, but the other still did nothing. It was as if Craig had took himself away from this world. He had drawn into his own little party in Craigland and no one else had been invited. "Craig," Kenny said slowly. He was as if he was unsure if the words needed to be said. A small movement in Craig's hand telling Kenny he was aware that he was being spoken to was all Kenny needed to repeat the other's name. He did not like the look he could see in the noirette's eyes. It was glazed. It was dead. It was as if the other was trying to disappear, and he never wanted to come back.

Craig met Kenny's eyes again. That expression remained on his face before he broke out into a laughter. It was not a happy laugh. It was far from it. It both startled and scared the both of them, but Craig could not stop. He was laughing at his situation as if it was some sick joke. It had only taken him sixteen years to get it. The joke that was his life. He laughed harder, gasping for air as he gripped at his sides. He had winced slightly as he irritated his bruises, only once. He laughed, despite.

Then Craig was back to the crying. It was as if once he finally found the way to express how he felt, he did not know which emotion to settle on. The crying mixed with the laughter to form a kind of sobbing forced hysteria. Craig hoped no one in Kenny's home was still there, and if they were he hoped they were very deeply passed out. Between the laughs and the tears, Craig was unsure what he was saying. His mind had decided to vomit up everything then. It was not only his stomach's bile he had to rid of, but his mind's as well. His story poured out. His life. No detail was left untouched or censored as he hacked out the words. He did not stop as two arms began to wrap around him. He tried to crawl back to his apathy, but he could not find it. His only way to cope with the world he had been forced into had disappeared somewhere between the tiles.

Kenny was silent and listened to every word. He listened to the chapters of the story he was told. He never let Craig go as he listened. He only spoke when the sound of a breakdown died, and the only thing left was naked emotions.

"You don't have to cope alone."


	6. Falling Into Stars of Lucidity

_"I stumble through the wreckage_

_Rusted from the rain_

_There's nothing left to salvage_

_No one left to blame_

_Among the broken mirrors_

_I don't look the same"_

**- Billy Talent**

Craig felt himself falling.

He was gripping to something and he was unsure what it was until it had spoken to him, then he realised to his utter bafflement that "it" was a "he" and with a hard slap he was for the second time that day he was brought back to reality. The nausea was gone, leaving behind his scratched up throat his vomiting. Craig wondered for a moment why Kenny McCormick bothered to care, but his mouth could not bring the courage to form the words his mind wanted to say.

Something told Craig that if he asked the question out loud than maybe the words would turn out to be a lie, or perhaps just like everything else he cared so much about it would be destroyed. He did not want the honey-blond to become cinders in the fireplace. Craig Tucker was still afraid. He was still terrified despite having "escaped" and being somewhere new. The person who was the reason he had to fight and prove he was "indeed a man" alive and well and probably still looking for him.

The fear caused a physical reaction. A light shivering that went unrealised until Kenny's seemingly faraway voice asked him if he was cold in what sounded like an apologetic tone. Craig was trembling slightly within his dark blue hoodie, the memories chilling him more than the wind. He nodded just to make up an excuse. He did not want to tell the truth, his tongue tying in knots again. Then he realised he already had. There was a sudden tightening unexplainable guilt over telling Kenny everything. He wanted to take it back.

Craig wanted to mop up the spilt words. He wanted to push them back into the bucket from where they had came from and make sure they were never released again. They were never meant to be released. A secret. It was supposed to be a secret. There was a tightening feeling in his chest for telling, a mad fear he could not really understand at that moment. It had been instilled in him when he was a young child, not to tell and never tell. His father was a bastard. There was no reason to protect him. Why did he? Craig put his head in his knees his impassive face washing over again.

He searched desperated for a reason why he protected a man he no longer cared for, a man viewed as a monster. The darkness of his knees and feet blocked whatever Kenny was doing, the only thing he heard was the soft rustling along with his own thoughts. Why? He could not understand his own thoughts anymore. After the years he had spent in the house he could have just told one friend to please let him stay over, but he did not want to drag them down. Craig was getting lost in the darkness that was his knees as he tried to desperately know why he was so pained over telling rather than relieved that he no longer heard the noises around him or the movements of the other.

Then there was a sudden softness over him, followed by warmth as Kenny threw a light orange fleece blanket over Craig's bowed head. Craig flew back a bit, startled by the sudden flash of bright colour and crashed back against the mattress again, but he did not fall back hard enough to hurt himself, only enough to flail a bit with the blanket emitting laughter from Kenny who found the whole situation mildly amusing. When Craig found his way out, his chullo hat had fallen off, the blue cap lost in the sea of orange and releasing his mass of black hair.

"Damnit McCormick!" Craig cursed not even realising his hat was off until his hand flew up to his head self-consciously. His face was still impassive, but his eyes widened in mild surprise, not liking the idea of being without his hat. The hat was his only security. The one thing he had left of his grandmother. He would never admit how attached he was to the hat, it was his security blanket. He remembered his grandmother, Nana and sitting beside her lap as she sewn it for him. He had helped feebly somewhat in hushed silence around mugs of peppermint hot cocoa. It was the few good memories he still had if his family and he cherished the chullo. He cared about it more than he cared about himself, nearly as much as he cared about Ruby. He was nearing panic when he could not find it. His fingers digging into the blankets, not noticing the flash of blue as it fell from the bed and hid underneath it.

Nimble brown gloved fingers found it, handing it the frenzied yet somehow still deadpanned face boy on the bed. Craig glanced up and took the hat. He muttered a quick thank you placing it on his mussed hair, the ends of which now peeked out around the corners. He felt ridiculous now and in pain from aggravating his injuries in searching. When he stood he forced himself to hold back a wince. "Have any painkillers McCormick?" He knew the answer before he asked, but he wanted to check anyway.

Blue eyes looked at him curiously then there was a shake of his head. Craig sighed, sitting back on the bed with the bright blanket. He wondered for a flitting second why everything why everything with Kenny was so vibrantly coloured. Even life seemed to be. Craig found himself closing his eyes and relaxing a bit. His breathing slowed as he curled into his familiar slight protective ball on the other's bed, not noticing the glancing eyes on him.

Why is there always an empty room? He is always alone in an empty room. Craig brings a hand up to his face and spreads his fingers to see between the spaces. Now he can see the people. They were hiding in the fragments, but none of them are facing him. Ruby is in the corner, and she is the one he is looking for. Her vibrant red hair brushing the ground as she creens her neck, sitting to write something. What is she writing?

One unsure step becomes two as Craig crosses the room. He makes sure to keep his hands where they are or the people will all disappear. They still are not facing him, and suddenly that scares him. Then he realises, the house scares him too. The house is terrifying. The walls are shifting, whispering to him. Ruby is still writing but stops as Craig nears.

His feet are stuck. The people are still not looking at him, and the walls are still whispering, the paper Ruby is writing on suddenly moves to flit towards Craig's feet. Craig can see the words on it in big bold print. It is not in Ruby's handwriting, but the handwriting of his father's. His penmanship, the cursive he used when he was drunkenly signing his permission slips before laughingly ripping them apart right in his face.

The walls are shrinking and closing in. Craig cannot breathe. He drops his hands to make the people just disappear like they are supposed to, but they do not. Ruby turns around wearing a plastic mask of their father. The other people - Token, Clyde, Tweek, and all of the people he has ever bothered to know - are wearing one to. The little slip of paper with the cursive in the bold penmanship is screaming at him "**YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE TOLD**," and the people begin to shout it too. They begin to tell him exactly what the paper says. They are advancing toward him. Craig just knows that they will punch him, kick him, hurt him, kill him.

Craig knows he is going to die this time. The people want him to die. Ruby, Token, Tweek, Clyde, and everyone else suddenly have turnt on and he is so suddenly small and afraid. Craig wants to run, but his feet do not want to listen, stuck to ground of the laughing, whispering house. He is whispering with the walls. He is whispering for them all to stop, all of it to stop, but he is not sure if the words are coming out. There is an awful screaming that sounds like a wailing child outdrowning him, choking him-

It took some time for Craig to realise that the screaming child was him. He had been screaming from a foetal in Kenny's bed, clutching himself and the coverlets so hard the fibres were beneath his nails and the imprints were dug into his skin. Kenny was still shaking his shoulder as softly as possible without hurting him, just to make absolutely certain Craig was all there. There were concerned eyes looking down at him and blond hair brushing his face, their proximity somewhat alarming to Craig. He stared somewhat startled, still lost in the nightmare, his hands releasing the sheets they held. He blinked once, then twice, to bring himself out of lucidity and back to reality.

His throat was dry. There was a sudden desperateness as Craig wondered what exactly he was doing here. He cleared it, sitting up and wrapping himself up in the blankets not liking how shadows played with his skin. His face was itself again, the same one he wore at school, at home, before he had been shattered and reassembled, but there was a small crack that was so very visible to Kenneth McCormick as the moon continued to come out. The blankets the biggest part of it, the nightmares, the screams.

"How long are you gonna let me hide here?" Craig suddenly asked. Craig's voice was in its monotone, but it laced the fear of the dream. He could not go to Tweek's house. Something was nagging his mind, telling him in premonition. His father knew where Tweek lived, and legally Thomas Tucker still had custody of him. In Colorado, by _whatever means necessary_ he could be taken by force home. Craig looked to the walls of the orange bright fleece and vibrant colours of Kenny's safe world. Kenny's house felt safe despite the dangers of poverty and cold. He did not mind any of it. He rather stay here.

There was a furrow in Kenny's dirty blond brows. Kenny did not know what to do about the situation. He had not actually planned on Craig living with him for the time being, but when he looked past the mask of apathy he swore he could see something broken. He had no idea why, but he wanted to fix it. The same way the insane desire to kiss him had overcame. A smile now overcame his features sheepishly, as he realised it was a "yes" the minute Craig had asked the question. "However long you need..."

Craig stared at Kenny with a slight tilt of his head, impassive face searching for a lie. When he found none he stood up, orange fleece blanket still wrapped around his shoulders from the cold. For a moment he stood awkwardly wondering what he was doing, but then he realised he was walking toward Kenny's window, toward the stars. He placed his hands on the sill and the glass that chilled his fingertips despite the fabric that covered them.

There were suddenly foreign arms around his waist that he was unused to, but he did not pull away. Craig found himself unable. The looming moon above was promising a new tomorrow.


	7. Disappearing In the Snowflakes

_"don't stop here_

_i've lost my place_

_i'm close behind"_

**-Howie Day**

* * *

Someone in South Park was missing. Everyone knew it, yet most hardly noticed the subtle change to their existance. The boy with the blue hat and brooding eyes had not really been there for a long time, his real identity hidden under middle fingers and vulgarities. Oh yes, Craig Tucker was lost to the world. He was in hiding, hiding from the things he did not want to face. He was hiding from a broken home and the shattered life he had left behind as a result without even thinking of picking up the pieces of himself along the way. Craig Tucker was so very lost in the world right now despite knowing exactly where he was in Kenny McCormick's bedroom, and how he was going to spend the next few days, perhaps weeks, here with the other.

Now Kenny was gone too. There was the matter of school to attend to and important tests to be had. School was the only way to get out of South Park, and it seemed that Kenny McCormick seemed surprisingly somewhat serious about attempting to. Craig had wondered why he wanted the the blond to stay, his mouth almost opening to form the words at the time. He had even almost grabbed an orange sleeve, unsure what he what would have said in explaination. He just had known he did not want the honey-blond with the warm eyes to leave him right then.

It was almost unfathomable. Craig had grown accustommed to being alone over these years. His company consisted shadows that never spoke, books with words to hide in, videogames to get lost in, and animals to simply indulge himself in. Now, there was another one of those strange feelings in his chest, different than the other ones Kenny had made him feel before. This one seemed empty. There was a hollowness in his chest, and a part of him told him he should stand up and just do something. It felt so strange, so foreign, to match the other emotions McCormick had made him feel.

Yet Craig recognised it so very well. Those days in elementary when Tweek and Clyde were sick and Token was in study hall with Wendy. Those days when he was on the swingset watching "those douchebags" that he simply hung onto a grudge to because that grudge covered up an envy of something he wanted ever so badly. Craig did not like the remembrance, a rare grimace covering his features. His memories tasted bitter on his tongue, his feet touching the floor as he decided to rummage through Kenny's closet. Distractions to take away what was best not to be thought of away. Bitter thoughts and bitter times. The things that brought nightmares and tears that the one cried them would never admit to.

An orange shirt was over here, a yellow one over there. A majority of them had hand painted designs, Craig wondering curiously who the artist was. The pictures were creative, sometimes slightly morbid or heavenly, the variation startling. Craig fancied one shirt in particular, the teeth painted on the cheap cotton in probably snatched stolen acrylic stretched across it. Then the back had been shredded for added effect. He took it out deciding he would put it back before Kenny came in.

The shirt slipped on easily, shreds of the fabric hanging off of Craig's hips. He still had on his jeans that he had worn the day up here, not having bothered to bring a change of clothes. He stood a bit in the shirt, chilled by the lack of the hoodie he had removed but searching for a mirror. He finally found an antique one resting in the corner of the room and looked at himself in the search liking the fit, his favourite finger to the mirror the result.

Back to the closet and back to the clothes he went. He was rummaging once again to avoid the whispering of a mind that was telling him things he did not want to hear. He did not notice the time that ticked by, the quickly passing hours as he tried on one reconstructed shirt or a pair of shredded pants, each time seeing how they fit. He was wearing black jeans and a cheap tangerine hoodie that had a smiley face with X's spraypainted on the eyes when the door opened with a light click. The click was so low it went unnoticed by Craig who was still playing with the thumbholes in the hoodie and the furlining that tickled his face. His fingers slipped in and out the coat easily, his face felt so soft against the fur.

The hoodie was comfortable and smelt familiar. It was the smell of Pop-Tarts, nicotine, and something else. Craig did not notice he was being watched as he sniffed the sleeve. It had the same faint smell as Kenny's bedsheets and the boy himself. He wondered what feeling overcame him then. He tried to place it once again. Trying to place the emotions was getting tiring. Feeling them was just as so. Craig wanted to keep it on; it was warmer than the blanket he had wrapped himself in. Something told him this was probably odd. Everything about what he was suddenly doing was peculiar. Although the idea had worked, each garment had pushed the memories back to the graveyard in his subconscious. This last one having him so immersed in it he no longer had no idea what had drove him to doing this in first place. He decided to take it off, turning around to meet blue eyes that were staring from the boy they belonged to leaning on the wall.

Blue eyes that had been unexpected in his partial undressing, the zipper the only thing even somewhat undone. His apathetic eyes were a blank stare not seeming to completely gauge the situation. His hand dropped from the zipper and to his side, head tilting slightly despite his still deadpanned expression. He momentarily forgot he was still wearing the jacket until he felt the fur against his cheek. The light feathery brush apparently bringing him from whatever trance he had been in and to his normal state of mind. He brought his hand once again to the zipper to take it off the hoodie. The tangerine fabric about to slide over his head when there suddenly arms around his waist and he was on Kenny's bedroom floor. His aggressor was tumbling with him, tossled blond hair a halo above his head.

Kenny was laughing lightly, and Craig had the irritating feeling he was the one being laughed at. It did not help that just looking at blond made him feel even stranger, and that was adding to the irritation. He wanted to kick him just for making him feel this way. He made a movement to raise his leg to do so, but his movements were stopped by others. The irritation must have been read in his eyes, for Kenny had turnt them again, blocking Craig's what-would-have-been-a-very-good-attack.

A soft noise of protest passed Craig's lips as their positions somehow found themselves reversed. Craig was now the one on top of Kenny despite still being still being restricted. Kenny was holding his hands and wrists in his own to place them against his parka clad chest. He was grinning wildly and mischieviously up at the other, melting the irritation away slowly to replace it with blank confusion as Craig felt his heartbeat increase slightly. The blood pounding in his ears did not help at all as he tried to regain some part of wit. The wit that did not seem to be regained as he leant down and brushed his lips against the others before the door clicked open again.

This time both teenagers heard it, Craig the one to jump up and away from Kenny like he was the plague in personification. He was across the room and with his back to the wall. The two girls who had caused him to leap back now standing in the doorway looked at the scene with a look of amusement, but there was also a hint of worry. It was a small light worry that was in one more than the other hidden behind a deadpanned face that matched her brother's as she stared at his place on the wall. She had seen a flash of fear when he leapt up to run to wall. Her mouth and words refusing to remark on it as she spoke, "Karen told me where you were. You didn't call."

Craig did not register to the words at first, his eyes were to busy trying not to focus on hers or anyone else's in the room. The words beat through him once he did. The slight tug at the sleeve of the jacket he was still embarrassingly still wearing a sign he had heard her. The movement was so subtle that no one would notice it unless they stared at him for as long as Ruby was doing then, her indigo eyes boring into her brother with hurt. Her next words would not help the situation as he continued to toy with the jacket sleeve rather than respond.

Indigo eyes were angry and flashed on a deadpanned face at the teenager across the room, the words that escaped passed her lips meant to slice through his skin and cut, meant to bruise. "I thought he fucking killed you Craig. I thought he fucking killed you because you just disappeared without even trying to contact me. What the fucking hell have you been doing the last few days? Why didn't you call me?" The monotone cracked slightly before regaining again as she spoke. Once she was done, she tugged out a cigarette from behind her ear, her bad habit steady between her fingers and a lighter and blew smoke and glared angrily at the ground rather than her brother's eyes. The words had been unstoppable things, a venom she now somewhat regretted from the way Craig tugged at the jacket he was wearing. She had hurt him because he had unadmittedly hurt her. A punishment for worry for worry that she would never admit to. The Tuckers were not allowed to worry. For if they thought too long on what exactly those worries were, they might have thought it was better to just go away or better yet drown in the worries they had. Yet Ruby had worried about him, and that worry had ate at her until it became a fierce anger not only at him but at everything. They were stuck in this situation. This was their life. She was worried about her brother and afraid. Fear had consumed their lives and made them believe that the only path in their lives was an escape into nothing, an escape into themselves. Ruby stared at her shoes and calmed herself with the dirty wooden floors. She asked the questions again, her voice once again her calmer steady and quiet monotone, the lace of anger completely disipitated. "What have you been doing? Why didn't you call?"

The questions were still hard to swallow. They were two hundred milligram pills going down Craig's throat. He was slumped in languidly manner against the wall, yet his thoughts were rigid. He was trying to find the words to answer her questions, but he could not. He could not find them past the choking pills. He toyed with his sleeve a bit more as he tried to will his tongue to speak. He was unsure what he would say, the words that slipped past his lips honest words and not a lie in his confusion. "I don't know...," his voice a quiet monotone that would not have been heard if the room had not already been so deadly quiet. The silence that was already caused by Ruby's outburst broken by his voice and the skittering of the rats in the walls.

The silence took over once again when Craig was done talking. He did not want to tell Ruby he thought it was so very safe here, or it was more that he could not explain the security he felt around Kenny. He could not explain anything. How could he say that whenever he was around the other the world would simply melt away, and for a short time he could simply forget everything? He could simply forget he was Craig Tucker. He could forget he was the boy was despised by his father and abandoned by his mother. He could forget he was forgotten and lost here by himself and by everyone who did not know him well enough. He could forget nightmares for at least a little while and exchange them for daydreams of sunny honey-blond hair and blue eye skies. Yes. Craig could not explain any of this in any simple words without saying all of that, and that would get his tongue-tied and would be too much for someone who was nothing, said nothing, too used to being so very boring.

A distant look crossed Craig's eyes as he stared at his shoes and nothing else in particular. Kenny stood up and strode across the room then startling him out of his trance with a light pat on the back. "Well... Karen can transfer notes to and fro here right?" he suggested with a small uneasy smile. He was taking a glance at Craig from the corner of his eye. Craig who was apparently not much more than a deadpanned face against the wall, somehow blending in despite wearing vibrant orange and blue. His indigo eyes had dulled from that previous brightness, a grey cloud covering them as he shrugged to the idea before Ruby and Karen voiced their agreements.

There was the sound of a clearing throat as Karen interrupted an awkward silence that was again filling the room. She gestured toward the door, nervous blue eyes darting in different directions. "We have to get going soon...," she said turning to Karen and grabbing the redhead's wrist. "We'll see you Craig, Kenny." Ruby was only protesting somewhat as she was tugged. Her protests only died as noises began to rise from the livingroom, the sounds of screaming and yelling and breaking bottles, before she was tugged out the door and down the hall. The two girls easily slipped around the doorway and out of view, hiding in the shadows to hide from the eyes of an arguing drunk pair. It was not long before Kenny and Craig could see them from the frosted window. They were running across the snow hand and hand and shielding themselves from the falling snowflakes as they hurried back to their destination before it got too dark. Karen was especially because she would have to slip back in to the other side of the tracks in the night.

Craig watched them run until their figures disappeared amongst the white. The snow blocked out everything, white seeming to wipe the world blank. The girls were gone and had disappeared. Now there was only Craig and Kenny again. The two once again alone despite their previous mood disrupted. The new mood was awkward and quiet with the exception of the shouts and sounds of the fight that was making its way through the paperthin walls. It was unbearable. Neithre of them really had any idea what to do with it. Craig had switched from sleeve pulling to reaching up and slightly tugging at the edges of his hat. Kenny himself had been trying his best to occupy himself with snowflakes on the windowpane, but Craig's movements were becoming more and more distracting. Craig had no idea how much he was maddening the blond out of the corner of blue eyes as Kenny vainly attempted to ignore the tugs.

There was a long audible sigh ceasing Craig in his tugging as he looked toward Kenny. He wondered why the other was sighing and showed it with a slight tilt of his head onto his gloved hand. He waited for a reply only to receive a cheesy grin. Craig was hesitant, but he returnt it with a ghost of a smile. It was happening again. The worries were melting away, and he had forgotten who he was. Craig Tucker would never smile. Craig Tucker was not the other boy in this room. This was someone new who could smile ghost smiles. This was someone who could spontaneously lean down to initiate a kiss, brushing lips whilst hands still held against the other's chest. This was someone who would wear the other's jacket when he thought no one was looking. This someone was not no one as Craig had previously been and still was if you stared too long.

_Oh where, oh where had Craig Tucker gone?_


	8. Clutching Onto Monochromatic Monotones

_"It seems like every day's the same_

_and I'm left to discover on my own_

_It seems like everything is gray_

_and there's no color to behold_

_They say it's over and I'm fine again_

_Try to stay sober feels like I'm dying here"_

_**-**_**Seether**

* * *

The days turnt into weeks. A routine developing between the two as Craig grew used to living in secrecy and hiding. He hardly noticed his growing used to it himself, the way he simply just fell into sync with the McCormicks' lives. He learnt to slip out of the room only when the parents were passed out, or better yet out on a alcohol run, his light footsteps never heard or mistaken for a mouse. His mornings were spent typically grouchy being awakened by the one who disturbed him before turning back over and going back to sleep and waking back up around noon to the McCormick parents fighting. Then there was just the bored waiting until Kenny or Karen got home.

Yes. Routine.

Craig hung off the bed on this particular day, his boredom for once driving him to the forbidden place that was Craigland. He realised for the first time, after what he took a particularly long time, he was too used to living there. He blinked, wondering exactly when did he plan on "leaving." The thought had hardly occurred to him. They were as infrequent as his nightmares had been the last few days. Admittedly, if Ruby had wrote him of it in one of her notes, he had only gave her the hint of an answer. His "maybe's" were not hopeful. Perhaps she sensed it because she never replied back to the questionable maybe's he gave. She only gave him some other topic to talk about in her next note.

A twiddling of his thumbs on the edge of the bed as he thought showed the thoughts were on his mind. These past weeks proved he had more emotion than he had known he ever known he could express, it leaking out in moments like this. His nervous habits were becoming more obvious, no longer subtle sleeve pulling but the twiddling of the thumbs and the tugging of his hat. They were the biting of slightly chapped lips when no one was watching him or the worst of all, the heartwrenching nightmares that would rip him to shreds until he was so very bare. Craig was afraid of them, the way they were unexpected, and they came creeping in the night. They were built with the emotions and the foreign feeling things that had no names. He could not handle any of it, and the little bad habits he had were not keeping them away when Kenny, Karen, _anyone_ was not watching.

They disrupted the routine, and they invaded his mind, dirtied his conscious by telling him how sick he was, undeserving of this contentment he was feeling. He and Ruby wanted to leave for different reasons. His reasons went back to nights that he would prefer to leave in the graveyard of memories-that-should-be-forgotten and hers were for them to be together, something he wanted but had forgotten about temporarily when losing himself with a certain person he should not be thinking about, never thinking about. All his life he was told not think about it, and now he was, the thinking bringing his eyes down to his hands that fell to the bed followed by himself. He could not live in this house. He was dirty, filthy, disgusting... A good-for-nothing who never amount to anything, and he could not live in a house with a boy who smiled sunshine and could erase his thoughts with a simple "It's okay."

No. Nothing was okay.

Craig wanted a barrier and fought to build one only to fail miserably and hide behind his knees. He refused to do anything but sit there in the foetal position, the physical defensive position in place of mental defences as he laid there stiff for thirty minutes that turnt to an hour. That day he did not go to get a snack from the McCormick's barren cabinet. He was emptying his mind, his thoughts, trying to erase the memories and make himself emotionless again. He did not care if he was receding. He wanted to be a rock. He wanted to be cold, ice and barren snow. The purity to feel him and cleanse him of that dirtiness he felt. He was not aware he was hugging himself tightly, the bruises that would form from his own fingers digging into his arms.

Craig was trying to forget memories that would not go away. There were burning words, vulgarities and along with his own name. He was wondering so hard why they would not fade into a place where there could only be white, empty white. The colour erasing the memories and the pain that was numbing his entire body as his fingers dug deeper and deeper into his arms, his knees drawing closer to his chest. He did not want to remember any of it. He wanted to fade with them.

Leave. He wanted to leave, had to leave.

Those were the thoughts that whispered as Craig found himself drowning in a drowsiness that loosened his fingers and allowed his hands to soften the grip on his skin. He was slipping into dreams, weightlessness. The weightlessness of a disreality that was helping him with his task of murdering the thoughts of yesterdays. A dream that was a hint of a nightmare as the claws of it sunk into him. He was no longer in Kenny's room, swept into the land that was his mind, his subconscious thought, and all the things he had not even been aware were behind a once closed door.

Craig was not in South Park anymore.

There was a barren field with nothing in it, and he was alone. The world was drained of colour, a black and white film he had been trapped in. Craig was in a twisted realm where there was nothing, nothing but himself in this monochromatic colour scheme. Even he was drained of colour, his pale alabaster skin looking a bleached white when he stared at his hands. His feet felt bare on the grass despite his socks, the dead grass poking through it lightly. Craig looked for something more to place, but there was only this grass, and it somewhat eased him with its emptiness, the blankness.

Suddenly, it was lonely. A loneliness that whistled through him with the wind that was blowing the stiff grass and his pyjamas ever so slightly. A loneliness that Craig wanted to not feel and tried to walk away from and leave behind as he began to walk with no direction for there was no north or south, east or west in the large, forever stretching field that was everything in black-and-white with shades of grey. The emptiness reflected in the air was a humidity that soaked into Craig's clothing and weighed him down, slowed him in his walk as he continued on, his heavy footsteps beginning to stumble.

The sky was a black colour, a velvet blanket that wrapped around him and seemed to laugh at his stumbles as the calm dream finally turnt into a nightmare. The silent laughter of the sky following him down as he fell into rough grass that scratched his bare hands and bits of arms as his jacket sleeves edged up. He somehow kept a wobbly stance, his arms the only thing keeping him up as he somewhat crawled in the rough grass that continued to scratch his hands, his fingers, his arms. It stung like reality, like pain, like slaps and broken beer bottles that had been thrown in his face so close to glass shards being broken in his skin. It hurt too much, the stings joined by stings behind his grey black eyes. This dream-turnt-nightmare was too real, terrifyingly real in this place where everything was supposed to be a twisted surreal fantasy. The fiction of what he nightmared a pain that was dragging him down, down, down into sticky black mud that got beneath his nails and each and every crevice of his being, touching him, making him dirtier, filthy. This was his dirtiness.

Craig desperately tried to clean it, not caring that he was sinking deeper into the mud as he lifted his arms to rub the dirt there, the filth. His hands and fingers worked furiously, but white soon was soon disappearing to be covered in black and Craig's voice soon became harsh breathing as his apathetic calm barrier crumbled with a composure that was never really there. A fake composure he had been feigning to mix in with everyone else who smiled and went on in masquerade of life. The harsh breath became a "no" as he began to frantic, struggling not to scream, terror rising as the dirt and mud dragged him beneath the earth and pulled him down. The "no's" were multiple repetitive short statements strung together, one long breath without stopping as he began clawing at the mud that seemed to scald his skin. The words, or perhaps it should be a called a word, was incoherent now.

It was a black sludge that drowned him in scalding heat as his head sank under. He could taste it in his mouth. It was the flavour of everything he left unsaid, thoughts unsaid, things said to him. It is the Ugly Things, the Nasty Things, the Disgustingly Vile Things. These were the things that burnt his throat to crawl down and infect his mind. He could not think past them. Whisperings continued to tell him that he was the perfect image of imperfection amongst other things. He was bringing his arms up to his throat to cough, to choke it out, but nothing happened. He was just breathing in more and more of the vulgar things he did not want to think about.

Light.

Craig was tugged out of the sludge to breathe fresh air by a brown clad hand. His barely seeing once-grey black eyes were now their indigo once again as he was brought to another monochromatic black-and-white world this one filled with silent trees and grass. The only colour that stood out in the midst was him and the orange offender, the clothing he wore the tint of a watercolour palette and tangerines. The colour was offensive enough to make Craig's halfmast eyes open fully to see the figure fully for honey blond hair and sky blue eyes (or perhaps they actually were tiny cloudless skies. Craig was unsure). The male in front of him was beautiful, purity in front of the ebony sky. He stared blankly, unable to pull away as the black tendrils of what he nightmared died to the dream. The orange offender only smiled still clasping his hand. He placed a sole finger to his lips as if he had a secret before lifting Craig out of his nightmare completely and taking him away to the dual monochromatic wonderland.

The orange offender's name could not be placed for his own awestricken frame of mind. He opened his mouth to ask, but then there was a sudden slight warmth beside him to bring him to reality and interrupt his speech. The dream was disrupted and fell apart as Craig opened his eyes slightly to stare at the same face that had been in his dream. The only difference now was that the teenager's eyes were closed and Craig could place a name.

Brief hesitation was the only the only barrier between Craig's hand and blond hair. His fingers were paused in time and space as he stared at Kenny beside him whose breath was slowing to a rhythm. He could not dare to wake Kenny up from whatever he was dreaming of. The dreams that crossed through the permanently mussed hair meaning a lot more than what Craig had to say. Everything Kenny said, everything he did, meant a lot more than the bit Craig offered him in bits and pieces.

His hand retreated to its place beneath the cover. He stayed in that position, his body close to Kenny's and watching the other dream for several minutes that felt like hours. His breath was soft on the other's face as he did so, the dream still poking his mind but fading. He wanted to move, but movement would be noticeable or wake Kenny. Plus, he was comfortable wrapped in the warmth of the blankets. The physical warmth mixed with the one in his mind as he brought his eyes down from a face to a chest.

It was in these moments Craig found himself unable to leave. He simply forgot the thought even existed and only remembered this moment, this being here. In times like this, everything was suddenly louder as the world melted away to something that resembled a dream. He could hear his heartbeat, the _bathump bathump_, it made as he laid on the thin spring mattress, and could compare it with Kenny's. Unconsciously, his once hesitant fingers came out of hiding once again and touched the other's chest lightly, feeling for that same heartbeat.

"Craig, are you awake?"

_Bathump bathump..._

Craig kept his head down for a matter of seconds. He was sure his heart had stopped beating at just the sound of the voice. His hand was still on Kenny's chest to prove what he had been doing, caught in the act. He just was not sure of what. He just knew it was ridiculously embarrassing to be caught doing. Perhaps it was better to keep his view with eye level to Kenny's chest.

The low, monotonic "Yes" that passed Craig's lips seemed to shout in the quiet room. He was as still as the breath that passed his lips, as still as his own stiffened movements before being forced to look up by sheer compulsion and anxiety by weighing anxiety that built in layers on top of him in the silence. Kenny was looking down at him in that way with a laughing half-sort of smile.

The half-sort of smile turnt into an actual laugh as Kenny sat up with a light tug on Craig as he did so. Craig refused to move until another few tugs, the one on his hat doing the trick. He sat up then, on his hands and then crawled back until he could lean against the headboard. Kenny was mimicking him in the same fashion, whether it was intentional or not Craig did not know.

They stayed like that for a few moments. Those few moments spent in a comfortable silence that stretched on until Kenny opened his mouth and shattered it with a few simple words. "You know... It's snowing outside." The little statement caused a snort from Craig.

"What's new?" Craig replied in dry sarcasm.

Another small laugh from Kenny with that smile on his lips remaining even after the laughter subdued. He draped an arm around Craig's shoulders, not minding at all that Craig hardly reacted to the movement. He was used to the other's small subtleties enough to see the slight flit of indigo eyes to show Craig knew he was there. Craig had a stoic stature and face, but it could be wiggled loose by the few things Kenny did to somehow drive the other out of his normalcy. When Craig was reflected in blue eyes, he swore even he could see himself as Kenny saw him: a quiet boy who just wanted to be made to smile.

"Well...," Kenny continued as he went on, a tone in his voice revealing that he had something hidden up his orange sleeves as he brought out the rest of his reply. "There is the fact we're going to be in it," he finally revealed as his smile grew and a blue twinkle came to his eyes.

Craig blinked, opening his mouth to protest. "I don't have a thick enough jacket," he said lamely, the excuse clearly made up at that moment. He would have thought of even better excuse if the statement had not taken him by such surprise. Instead, he merely stuck by his translucent jacket excuse. The words were completely see-through although as Kenny smiled at the other with a look that clearly stated "That's bullshit."

Craig stuck by his bullshit although and avoided any eye contact that might lead to further revealment of his true feelings. He stared out the window instead, the gently falling snow looking tempting as he looked into the slowly darkening sky. It always got too dark too early in South Park. The sun was gone, lost behind the grey snowclouds. He almost missed it, but the falling snowflakes that would stick to the glass of the window was calming. He became intent on staring at it, not wanting to open his mouth to say anything more.

His intense staring soon led in consequence to his not paying attention to his surroundings. Kenny took full advantage of this, lithe arms wrapped around the other's waist to lift Craig up slightly and drag him off the bed. Of course Craig responded with cursing protests in his same monotone, but his voice held a slight edge of irritation on the ends of it as he continued to resist weakly. He would have punched at Kenny harder, but that could result in a broken nose or something. He did not want Kenny to be hurt because of him.

Still, Craig's mind hissed at him to fight harder or else lose a piece of his masculine pride at losing. He was slightly frowning in discontent as Kenny just ignored his colourfully articulated "let go's." He raised his hand up to flip the other off only to find a hoodie slipping over his head and covering his blue jacket as it engulfed him. The jacket was a dark navy, Craig blinking at the familiarity of the fabric.

It was one of his hoodies from "home."

Another blink in that (again) surprising moment. Craig tugged at the fabric adjusting the hoodie until both hoods could be seen around his neck. He looked up and met the eyes of the one across from him when he was done. A raised brow on his otherwise nonchalant features. "Where'd you get this?" he asked in monotone.

"Karen took it when she was visiting Ruby at your house. She said she figured you would need a thicker coat than that thin ass one I found you wearing at the hospital," Kenny explained to the subtle questioning expression. He watched as it shifted from questioning to blank once again at the explanation. Craig simply stared for a moment. Then his blank look was replied with a grin as Kenny grabbed his wrist and tugged him out the door. "C'mon," he said brightly ignoring Craig's protesting feet which hardly dared to move as he stumbled after Kenny.

They found themselves confronted with the falling snowflakes and cold air typical of South Park. Their feet made tracks in the once-unbroken sea of white. Kenny continued to tug Craig along, he now following somewhat willingly as he tried to keep up with the one holding onto him. Kenny only stopped running when they reached Stark's Pond, the ice meeting their toes as they nearly tripped on the frozen water. They were breathless and panting, hand-in-hand in the crashing ice crystals and white blanket. Kenny was still smiling happily. Craig less so, but there was a light curious glint in his eye all the same.

Before words could come to Craig's lips, he found a snowball full of snow in his mouth. The cold that greeted him so surprising that he stumbled with a small muffled, unintelligible sound escaping his lips. For a moment he stared as Kenny laughed wholeheartedly at his expense.

That was, Kenny laughed until he felt a snowball hit his face too.

Kenny's thoughts were caught off-guard, the playfulness expressed unexpected from the noirette. There was a subtle smirk on Craig's feature as his eyes lit with their own victory. In that one moment of flying ice, he had forgotten what he had been worrying about, why he protested to come outside, and why oh why did he not do this anymore. He was too busy now delving into a snowball fight as Kenny reciprocated Craig's with a flick of his wrist and a hand of balled snow.

A shout passed Craig's lips as he ducked behind a tree, the thunk made on the trunk telling him Kenny had missed. He could not wait long for Kenny would soon be ready with another one, his hands working fast behind his temporary tree security as he balled some more ammo. Then there was a flurry of white in the already falling snow as Craig threw them all at once. He hid behind his tree once more, safe in the knowledge that he _must_ have hit something.

Or not.

A snowball followed by a blur of orange thunk into his chest and flew him backwards into the tree. Craig threw out curses along with his tangling limbs as they tumbled into the snow. They were a mess of dark blue and orange tossed together in a panting heap. For a moment, there was a bit of silence when Kenny raised his head from the place it had found in Craig's neck. "I win," he finally said finding his grin to place in place once more.

Craig found a small laugh escaping his mouth then, the sound just as unexpected as the first snowball he threw. It was a short laugh that died just as quickly as it came. It came so fast and left so quickly it could have been a trick of the wind passing over them. The silence once more taking over the chill of the evening as Craig simply laid back in the snow, Kenny staring at him with a slight tilt of his head before resting next to him in a more comfortable position. Craig was slightly underneath him with his eyes closed, listening to the sound of the wind blowing. He was thinking of how badly he needed a cigarette, how cold it was outside, and the many other trivial things that seemed to become more important than the dark thoughts lingering in his mind.

"We should move in together."

The thoughts Craig was previously thinking were erased in that moment, that seemingly spontaneous revealed idea. He turnt to face Kenny and looked at him with a face that revealed nothing and a raised brow. His silent question was answered as Kenny continued talking. Only this time his voice filled with a nervous confidence as he continued, that slight smile still on his face as he spoke.

"I think we should move in together. We're both old enough to get a job until school ends, and with our parents permission I'm sure we could just get an apartment somewhere close."

Craig still stared unsure what to say. Ambivalence was churning in his mind along with the heart that once again thundered in his chest and was blocking his throat for words. He managed to choke it down and break out a breathless monotone of "Are you fucking crazy?"

Kenny's smile faltered only slightly before returning to his face even bigger than before. "Maybe a bit," he said with a small laugh that would not have been heard if Craig was not so close. Craig was staring at him once more trying to find the words to speak once more.

"It doesn't sound like a good idea."

"The Craig Tucker I know would just say 'Fuck it,' and realise that it's just crazily brilliant."

Craig was silent for a few more minutes. "When have I ever done that?" His brow was up again as he stared at the other.

"Just now."

And with that Kenny stood up and tugged Craig up with him. His eyes were insanely blue as they bore into Craig begging him to follow him and just run away. In his eyes, you could see the world as something else. There really was a begging innocence despite his perverted ways. A purity brought on by a kindness no one hardly noticed. It was the power that drove him to childhood vigilantism, and an obsession with things were beautiful. Snow did not fall; it danced in Kenny's vision. There was no fear of death, only the pain of what happens when it comes. In Kenny's eyes Craig could see himself as Kenny saw him: someone worth escaping with. Someone worth holding hands with down a crowded street with no fear of criticising eyes. Someone who was someone.


	9. Washing Into White

_It's a small crime_

_And I've got no excuse_

**-Damien Rice**

* * *

This time, there was no protest as Craig ran with Kenny through the snow. It was falling harder, but that was not the reason they were running. With Kenny, Craig felt that familiar unfamiliar flicker of hope that he had thought died in fists to his face and shoes to his gut. They were running to Kenny's house with canvas sneakers wet from the snow, slightly frozen toes, and the sweet edges of tiny dreams.

The window was cracked open in the manner they had left it. There was fighting in the livingroom to block the front door. The sound of breaking glass against the door had been their warning when they approached the house. (Of course, the curses of 'stupid bitch' and 'fucking no-job-having bum' was another clue.)

Kenny was the one to shove up the windowpane slightly and clamber inside first. Craig followed suit, legs swinging over the sill with the practise ease of someone who had done this before. All those nights of sneaking out of his window and down the gutter drain had not went wasted. He wandered into the room and to the bed where he simply sat do nothing for a bit, while Kenny went out to check on Karen.

The cold still chilled him a bit, Craig rubbing his arms a bit to bring some warmth to them. The minutes Kenny was gone was turning to hours, and Craig found bits of worry worming into his mind. It never had taken Kenny this long to check on Karen. Craig could always count on him coming back in a manner of seconds. Craig strained his ears for a sound in the silence that had encased the room.

Silence?

It was silent in the house. There was no sound of the broken glass and fighting he had become accustommed to. There was only silence. It filled him at first, but then it started to choke. The worry built up until it was unbearable, and Craig found himself on his feet. Then he was at the door, and opening it without any thought but why oh why was it so quiet.

He tiptoed to the livingroom and over the broken bottles. He found the McCormick parents there, on the floor and passed out. He stared at them a bit, his detachment very much known as he continued on to the kitchen. There he found more bottles clustered in the sink and in the counter and an empty cabinet where all the food had already been eaten (as scarce as it had been). The worry was not choking him now. Instead it was screaming loud, louder, loudest booming in his ears. He did not hear the footsteps behind him. He only felt that strange sense of deja vu as he turnt around to leave.

"Dad?" Craig did not mean to choke on the word, but he did. The word came out as if he had forgotten how exactly his mouth and vocal chords worked. Maybe he did. He could not think over the fact that now the worry had consumed every part of him, his feet frozen in the spot he was in.

Thomas Tucker looked calm. He had a bottle in hand and drunk some of it before tossing it and its remains to become a slick and dangerous mess all over the browning kitchen tiles. The calm way he was doing everything was making Craig feel worse about the situation rather than better. His father looked up at him, and held out a hand. "C'mere son," he said in a slight slur and a gruff voice.

Craig did not seem to here the command. Instead, his eyes did not recognise one hint of change. They were dulling, and he was receding again. "Where's Kenny?" he asked not really all that aware he was actually asking the question that had been forming in his mind for the last few minutes.

"I threw that faggot outside. He seemed mighty sweet on you. Fought like hell." That is when Craig's father face changed into the one he had become familiar with. There was a smiling sneer suddenly on his face that contorted his expression to the drunken rage he had become accustommed to before. "Now c'mere son." There was no calmness in the voice now. It was a deep warning tone as Thomas took a step toward him.

Something snapped. He could not be sure why. Maybe it was that person that was not-Craig seeping through again, but suddenly a foreign anger outweighed the dread that had been building in his stomach. The steady and monotonic "no" that passed so easily from his lips seemed foreign to him, but he meant the word. No. He was not going to leave with his father. No. He was not going to go through this again. No. No. N-.

Suddenly he was screaming it as his father roughly grabbed him by his hair, his chullo falling to the ground. He began to kick at the ground, searching for something to grab on that was not there. He clawed at the hands that were on his head, but the hold was not loosening. All he could really do was the screaming which was not seeming to bring any help to his aide.

His father hissed loudly when Craig's nails managed to scrape the skin off one his hands. There was a small gap when Craig could crawl away. He took it in a mad scramble. He got a bit of glass in his hands from a broken bottle, but could not feel the sting. He did not even see the small bit of blood he got on Kenny's room door as he locked himself inside. His fingers fumbled with the lock before he heard that reassuring click. He was dragging a chair to the door when it took the first hit. Then another. Craig forgot about the chair, and just abandoned it there in front of the shuddering door. He ran to the other side of the rooom, shaking still with reddening bruises on his arms.

Then his feet were running again. He tore some jackets and clothes from Kenny's closet, and placed a beenie on his head. It was not his chullo, but it would have to do. He grabbed Kenny's bag from the floor and stuffed the clothes inside. He was not even sure what he had grabbed, but he had to at least have something necessary mixed in.

A loud bang and tthe cracking sound of splintering wood jolted him up. He clambered and slithered out the still partially opened window. The bag nearly caught, but with a bit of a tug, it was free as well. The onslaught of snow was welcome as he ran. It blurred his figure and covered him in a light sheet of white. He fell, but even then he did not stop. He had to have dropped something, but no, he would not stop.

His lungs hurt, his chest hurt, his legs hurt. Everything hurt. Time was a blur, like the shapes in the snow and the sky. Like the time. It flew past him as white flakes dancing and twirling about him. He was not aware just how far he had ran until he noticed the hishway lights and a sign pointing toward Denver in front of him.

For one moment, Craig looked behind him. Every speck of him was dressed in white. He saw that small little mountain town behind him, and he closed his eyes. His eyes were still closed when he turnt around. They were still closed when he pushed one foot forward and then another. He opened his eyes again only when he felt South Park vanish behind that veil of snow.


End file.
